Being your mom

My Oli, my youngest baby.

Words both fail me and overwhelm me at the same time when I try to describe what you mean to me. What your arrival, your existence, and your decision to stay have done in my life is impossible to measure.

I remember the morning of the accident as if it were yesterday. You woke up next to me in bed and, as always, in less than a second you sat up and started rubbing your little eyes. I pretended to stay asleep, but you called me: “ma ma, ma ma, ma ma.” Then you began poking my face with your chubby little fingers until you saw me smile. You came close, gave me a kiss, and I held you tight. You laughed, like always, and then asked me to let you go because you wanted to get up and start the day. We were at the beach, and you wanted to go swim in the pool.

If I had known that would be our last “normal” morning, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. I would have done it exactly the same. Because since the day you were born, I have cherished you and valued you for what you are: my most precious treasure.

Your qualities are unique. Dad and I often joke that you don’t seem to belong to our family, because you are so much of what we are not: patient, always cheerful, with the ability to see the good in people and bring peace just by being there. You know when to smile and when to hug. You know the power of your gaze and your presence.

You are our balance. You came to put us all in our place. As the third child you accepted from the very beginning that Mom and Dad would not be only for you, but that never bothered you; on the contrary, you were always happy just being part of us.

You are an easy child, a happy child, with big cheeks and a huge heart. With you I had the chance to be the mother of only one, to enjoy calmly what with your brothers, being twins, was impossible: to nurse you, to nap with you, to watch you grow without hurry.

And now, you keep surprising me … surprising the world. You were never only for me, you were meant to be something greater. You are not “Laura’s son,” I am “Oli’s mom.”

When so many times they told me you would leave, my insides went empty. The meaning of my life dissolved, and the greatest pain I have ever known took hold of what once was a heart full of love. To see you in a bed, motionless and defenseless, left me breathless. The guilt pressed so hard I could hardly breathe. I would trade places with you without a second’s thought, you can be sure of that; I would take away your suffering if it were possible. But, my son, you are so great that you have taught me to take that suffering and turn it into strength, turn it into light.

Nothing and no one has been able to write your destiny. You have chosen your path yourself. When everything pointed to an end, you chose to continue. At just two years old you have defied science, medicine, and the laws of life. They call you “the boy who should not have survived.” They call you “a miracle.”

For me you are simply Oli. For me it is clear: if anyone can, it is you.

Being your mom is my greatest achievement.

I love you forever.